


Fragments of the Future

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Series: Seventh Slayer 'Verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-01
Updated: 2002-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short ficlets set far in the future, showing how Buffy and Spike turn out. Part of the Seventh Slayer 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunset

_2041..._

This was the most beautiful moment of his life. He tried to think of any time that he had been happier and failed miserably. Nothing came close to this.

He rested one hand on the guardrail in front of him. Beyond it, thousands of gallons of water poured from the precipice of Niagara Falls, crashing and echoing when they finally hit the bottom.

And beyond the falls, the red line of the sunset still filled the horizon, casting deep, purple shadows across the landscape. Against the crimson edge of the last ray of daylight, the deep blue of night looked even more fascinating…even more mysterious.

He knew this night would bring great things, but he was in no hurry. This moment of anticipation was enough for him right now, and it was awe-inspiring in its own right.

He closed his eyes for a second and allowed his other senses to wash over him. The roar of the falls, the cool spray of water against his face, the fragrant floral scent of the spring air…

And the soft sigh of the woman beside him.

He opened his eyes again and turned to the young blond.

She was leaning against the rail, her arms crossed in front of her, with that same look of wonder on her face that he was sure he had.

“It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly.

“We came at a good time,” he smiled at her, resting his other hand on the rail on the opposite side of her. “Couldn’t’ve asked for a better sunset…”

“Mmm…” she leaned back against him, and a whole new barrage of sensations flew through him. “I’m glad we came.” She caught his arm and wrapped it around her waist, interlacing her fingers with his as she held his hand to her bare midriff.

“So am I,” he agreed lazily, slowly bending down to kiss the white scar on her neck where he had first made her his forever.

She sighed and tilted her head to the side, giving him better access.

He took a few slow nips before returning to look at the growing night before them.

“It’s going to be a _wonderful_ night,” she purred contentedly, echoing his own thoughts.

“Yeah, luv,” he smiled. “It really is.”

“So,” she played with his fingers at her waist. “where do you want to go next?”

“Wherever you want, kitten,” he said softly.

“Hmm…” she murmured thoughtfully.

“Well,” he asked, “where are we going?”

“Don’t know,” she shrugged. “I just want to be here for a little while longer.”

“Then let’s just be here,” he kissed her hair lightly.

From this angle, he could see every vein and imperfection of her soft throat. He’d already memorized them all, but that never ceased to make them beautiful to him. He noted with mild amusement that her white bra strap was peaking out of her summer top. For some odd reason, it made him feel like a voyeur to look at it. It was ridiculous, of course. He’d made love to her practically every night for the last thirty-seven years.

But it was always at moments like this, when things were quiet and they were just _together_ that he felt they were the most intimate.

“You decide,” she abruptly declared.

“What?” he chuckled slightly.

“You decide,” she repeated. “Where are we going?”

“Oh no,” he tsked her. “This is _your_ trip. I’ve already seen the world. You’re the one who needs to catch up.”

“And who better than you to be my guide?” she turned around in his arms and ran her hands gently up and down his shoulders. She looked up into his eyes with big, wide hazel pools. “I bet you know all sorts of wonderful places to visit…” She gave him a shy smile.

He threw his head back with a whoop of laughter. “Cor, you’re impossible, Buffy!” he exclaimed.

“Always,” she agreed. “So?”

“ _We’ll_ decide that tomorrow,” he gave her a wry smile. “ _Together_.”

“OK,” her smile brightened, and she reached up with one hand to touch his cheek.

His eyelashes fluttered closed, and he took a deep, unnecessary breath, burning this moment into his memory forever.

“Spike…”

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice.

“Yes, luv?”

“I love you, Spike,” she looked deep into his eyes as she said it.

That delighted look passed over her features just as it had every time since she first told him those words. She laughed at the pure joy on his face and the fact that she alone could put it there.

“I love you, too, kitten,” he brought his lips gently to her forehead. “Always.”

“Always,” she agreed before taking his hand and leading him back to their adventure.

Yes, it was definitely the best night of his life.

And the best part was that he knew every night after it would just get better...


	2. Afternoon Soaps

_2023…_

Buffy lay back on the couch, yawned, and watched as Mr. Wilkins grabbed Tabitha roughly by the shoulders and pulled her into a passionate kiss. Her interest continued to dwindle as the couple fell back onto the office couch, groping at each other like rabbits in heat.

“Honestly,” Buffy rolled her eyes, “what do you see in these shows anyway?”

The only response she got was a slight mumble.

Buffy sighed and looked down at her stomach where her mate had made his pillow.

“It’s not fair,” she informed him, toying gently with his soft, peroxide blond curls. “You make me watch this lame show with you and then fall asleep, leaving me to suffer on my own…”

He nestled his head snugger into her flat stomach muscles and clutched at her hip with one hand, in his sleep enjoying the feel of her body vibrating when she spoke.

She graced him with a small smile before turning her attention back to the television. Mr. Wilkins and Tabitha were _still_ crawling all over each other and moaning each other’s names unconvincingly.

“She is _so_ faking it,” she told her sleeping lover. “I mean, look at them! It’s not even remotely realistic! And how old is he, anyway? Fifty? Not that relationships with age gaps can’t work…” she added as an afterthought. “But still, ugh! Look at him! He’s hideous. All she wants from him is the deed to her mother’s house, anyway. This whole show is sick. I’m changing the channel.” She began flipping through the stations like mad.

It was a testament to how deeply asleep he was that he didn’t protest.

“Soap, soap, infomercial, sleazy talk show, wrestling, more infomercials, soccer game, soap, cheesy game show, soap – oh my god! ‘As the World Turns’?! That show is _still_ on?! My _mother_ watched that when _she_ was a kid! That show’s got to be, like, eighty by now, don’t you think?”

No response.

“Hmm…” she hit the muting button and turned her attention to the much more interesting matter of the man in her lap. “You’re really out of it, aren’t you?” she teased. “I could do all sorts of things…” She began fiddling with his slicked back hair. “All sorts of nasty things to you while you’re asleep…”

She used the gel to her advantage, spiking his hair all straight up. She giggled slightly at how much the look reminder her of pictures she’d seen of him back in the 1980s before twisting his hair all together at one point in front.

“Ta-da!” she said proudly. “A unicorn horn!”

He still didn’t seem to be waking up. Buffy giggled and split the horn in two, giving him the equivalent of devil horns.

“Ooh! Very appropriate on you,” she teased, “my sexy little devil.”

One of her hands moved to stroke his razor-sharp cheekbone, and he murmured softly, leaning slightly into her touch. His fingers began twining the soft fabric of her boxers in between them, toying with them gently.

Ah, those boxers… What a battle they had caused!

Buffy still couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of when she’d first made him get them. He’d protested vehemently against wearing any such thing. She’d made the all too reasonable argument that the only reason she wanted him to get a pair was so that she could steal them from him. Grudgingly, he’d agreed.

The real problem had started when she insisted that he wear them before her. He’d flat out refused at first. She’d carefully explained that if they didn’t smell and feel like him, then there was no point in her wearing them. He’d made the point that she really didn’t need to wear anything, and things had deteriorated for a while… However, their activities _had_ allowed her to give him a sneak preview of just how grateful she would be if he wore them.

So he had. And pretty soon he’d decided that they were comfortable. She still suspected he had done it just to annoy her. He still had an unfortunate tendency to do that to her once in a while…well, maybe it wasn’t unfortunate since she found it so sexy…but still! He’d refused to fork them over.

A brief struggle had ensued, and she’d finally managed to liberate them. That was just two days ago, and she was still parading them around like a trophy. He seemed in no hurry to reclaim them. In fact, he quite obviously enjoyed watching her wear them.

In any case, they’d both come to the conclusion that their activities for the past two weeks were far better than the assignment they’d just finished.

Buffy wiggled slightly when his fingers began to ease their way under the fabric to get at her bare thigh.

“OK, I _sooo_ know you’re awake now, Spikey,” she patted his cheek affectionately. “So get up and entertain me!”

He let out an annoyed growl and looked up at her with sleepy eyes. “Was havin’ a nice nap, luv,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“Oh, bad me for waking you up,” she said coyly, twisting a lock of her long, blond hair around one finger.

He growled deep in his throat and lunged at her…

And she burst out laughing. Really, with the hair and all, it was just _too_ much!

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed. “It’s just…I…” She broke back out into hysterics.

He huffed. “My advances didn’t used to make to laugh,” he sat back and sulked.

“Hair!” she finally managed to cry out.

“Hair?” he felt his head, and his eyes widened comically when he found out what she’d done. “Why, you little minx!” he scolded her, combing his hair back into place with his fingers.

“Mmm-hmm,” she nodded in agreement.

“And you’ve changed the channel, too,” he protested.

“You were _asleep_ , and do you have any idea how boring it is to watch that show without you insulting it with me?” she defended herself.

“Sorry about that, kitten,” he chuckled, laying his head down between her breasts and turning to look at the TV. “Guess you wore me out is all.”

“Maybe I’ll have to trade you in for a newer model,” she teased.

“Humph,” he sulked.

“Or not,” she conceded. “I’ve kind of grown fond of the old model…”

She lifted his head up, and their lips met briefly before they both turned back to the muted screen.

“They need to invent ultra-muting or something,” Spike commented, his vampiric hearing still able to pick out every sound emitting from the television.

“It’s annoying all right,” Buffy agreed, yawning, “but then again,” she raised a speculative eyebrow at the TV, “we wouldn’t want to miss this jingle, now would we?”

“Heaven forbid,” he agreed. “Turn it back,” he insisted. “ ‘Passions’ll be on soon.”

“That show is just too weird. I can’t believe it’s still on,” Buffy rolled her eyes while complying with his wishes.

“’s a bloody brilliant show,” he insisted, his fingers now toying with the fabric of her shirt. “Slayer…” he said in sudden realization, “is that my favorite black T-shirt you’re wearing?”

“What, this?” Buffy fluttered her eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“A thief _and_ a liar,” he muttered under his breath.

“No wonder you love me so much,” she joked.

“Hmm, no wonder,” he agreed as the opening credits rolled and they prepared to waste another hour of eternity…


	3. A Game of Strategy

_2030…_

Buffy sat on the windowseat and watched the snow pile up outside. Swirls and eddies of glistening white stood out in stark contrast to the black of night. The cold fingers of winter crept right up to the window, leaving crystalline patterns on the frosted glass.

“Brr…” she whispered to herself, wrapping the afghan around her shoulders more tightly.

“This oughta warm you up, luv.”

Buffy turned around and accepted the hot mug of blood and cocoa with a grateful smile. “I thought vampires weren’t supposed to get cold,” she said, taking a quick sip and burning her tongue.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Spike warned her belatedly.

“ _Now_ he tells me,” she rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“Indeed he does,” Spike sat down on the floor by her feet and gave her a rakish smile. “Looks like we’re housebound again, luv,” he said, blowing on his own mug before tasting it.

Buffy sighed. “What to do, what to do…” she said thoughtfully, her fingers trailing through his hair.

“’ve got a few ideas…” He gave her his best seductive smirk. The one that always got her riled up…although not always in the way he intended.

“Sex later,” she huffed. “I need to do something…mentally stimulating.”

“Are you saying my _talents_ aren’t intellectual enough for you?” Spike said with mock hurt.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she patted his head reassuringly. “I have no complaints whatsoever about your _talents_. I just need to…” She trailed off and shrugged.

“Not die of cabin fever?” he teased.

“Note to self for future reference,” Buffy smiled at him, “stay out of Colorado in winter.”

“Don’t know,” Spike eased himself up onto the windowseat beside her, “you an’ me, trapped in a cabin, alone in the woods… ‘S definitely got… _possibilities_ …” He brushed her hair to the side and nipped gently at his bite mark on her throat.

Buffy tilted her head to the side and sighed contentedly. “Feels nice…” she murmured.

“But we do need something to pass the time,” he agreed, resting his head on her shoulder while he thought. “Hey, Slayer,” an idea struck him, “wanna play?”

She looked at him askance. “Who’s rules?” she demanded.

“Mine, ‘course,” he flashed her a wide grin.

“Then how can I refuse?” She gave him a broad smile and got up. She took him firmly by the hands and pulled him to his feet. “Where’s the board?” she whispered, her lips inches from his.

“Hall closet,” he answered, giving her a quick kiss. “’ll get it. You get settled.”

Buffy let him go and picked up both their mugs, setting them down on the living room coffee table. She sat down on the rug beside it, using several cushions from the couch to make herself comfortable.

Spike plopped down on the rug across for her a few seconds later, placing the board on the carpet between them.

“I call black,” he grinned at her, beginning to set up his pieces.

“Surprise, surprise,” Buffy smiled slightly. She picked up the white pieces he’d tossed haphazardly on her side of the board and quickly put them in proper order. “White always goes first,” she reminded him.

He reached over to her side of the board, picked up her knight, and dropped in back down in front of her rook.

“Why the knight?” she asked, bewildered.

“Seemed like a bold move,” he shrugged. “Gettin’ the aristocracy involved right off the bat.” He lit up his cigarette and took a quick drag. “My move,” he said.

Buffy inched one of his pawns forward. And with that, she turned to her strategy.

They’d long ago discovered that making each other’s first moves saved a lot of arguing over how lame they made their _own_ first moves. It also meant that the game started a completely random way every time. And since they’d been playing now for over twenty years, that was _definitely_ of the good.

Their first few moves were made in quick succession. Spike managed to get up a nice defensive line around his king, while Buffy focused on blockading his rooks. Here and there, a pawn was sacrificed, and once Spike even managed to kill one of her bishops.

Buffy had to admit, he was a pretty good player. The only problem with his strategy was… There!

A broad smile crossed her face when she noticed the first signs of his fidgeting. Soon the game would be getting _really_ fun…

She moved her queen to defend her knight. Spike countered by using his own queen to guard his endangered rook. She advanced her pawn…

Twitch!

Spike’s foot was getting a bit tap-happy now, and he was subconsciously grinding his jaw every couple of minutes.

Buffy checked the clock. They’d been at it for about an hour. That was usually when things started getting interesting…

With complete disregard for its safety, Spike used his rook to kill her knight.

“You do of course realize that you’re going to come out of this exchange the worse off?” she felt the need to ask.

“Bored now. Wanna kill things,” he explained with childlike enthusiasm.

Buffy smiled slightly at the expression on his face and annihilated his rook with her pawn.

He quickly took the pawn with his queen.

“No!” Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I am _not_ exchanging queens!”

“Oh, c’mon,” Spike teased her. “It’ll clean the board right up. Get rid of all that messy conflict over by your bishop.”

“You’re _not_ getting rid of my queen!” Buffy insisted, moving the piece out of harm’s way.

“Then _you’re_ just gonna have ta try an’ save it,” he countered jovially, using his knight to chase her queen across the board.

“Spike!” she squealed after she’d spent the next three moves evading what had now become a three-pronged attack. “Knock it off! And, look, you’ve left your defenses wide open!”

He snorted derisively. “King’s a useless wanker anyway. Now that queen… Tha’s where the _real_ power is.”

“I am _sooo_ going to checkmate you,” Buffy threatened

“Feel free to go after the king, luv,” he teased, “but your queen’s about to meet her maker.”

“Fine then,” Buffy huffed slightly. “You’ll just have to face the consequences then.” She took one of his pawns with her bishop, breaking the protective barrier around his king.

“Right,” Spike agreed happily enough, finally murdering her queen.

Buffy rolled her eyes and took his queen in return. “Now what are you gonna do?” she challenged.

“This.” His pawn moved back a space to kill her bishop.

“What was _that_?” she exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”

“Well, not normally,” Spike agreed, “but see, your bishop there was copin’ a feel on my pawn. So, ‘e got ‘imself a good lawyer, an’ they managed to cut up all that legal red tape that governs a pawn’s motions.”

Buffy was giggling uncontrollably at his explanation. “You’re deranged,” she informed him.

“Documents are all down at city hall,” he insisted. “So, ‘s perfectly legal…”

“OK, you win that one,” she agreed, desperately trying to contain her laughter. After all, if she was still laughing at his previous move the next time he cheated, it would make the move legal. Her free rook moved across the board to begin another attack.

Spike countered it in a perfectly normal way, seemingly back into the regular rules of the game.

They set up another little standoff right in the middle of the board.

Buffy managed to slip her knight around the barrier and looked at him smugly.

He responded by plucking two of her pawns off the board with no explanation whatsoever.

She steeled herself up against the impending laughter. “Ahem,” Buffy said after a while when he didn’t do anything.

“What?” Spike asked innocently. “’S your move.”

“I’m not laughing,” Buffy said, “which means you put my pawns back.”

“Can’t do that, luv,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, you can,” she insisted.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “They’re dead.”

“No, they’re not,” Buffy persisted. “You just plucked them off the board.”

“Look,” he said patiently, “they’re dead. I can put them back on the board if you want, but I figured I was doin’ you a favor takin’ ‘em off.”

“A favor?” Buffy raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Don’t want all your other pieces to die, do you?”

“What, the pawns were going to turn traitor and attack me from behind the lines?” she demanded sarcastically.

“Nope.”

“What then?”

“Black Death.”

A chortle of surprise escaped Buffy’s lips before she could stop herself. “Dammit!” she swore.

He flashed her a broad grin in triumph.

“OK,” she let her giggles start up again since she’d already lost this one, “tell me about the Black Death.”

“’S a nasty disease,” he began. “Spreads like wildfire, too. ‘S those rats that do it, carryin’ the fleas. Figured I’d get the bodies away from the rest of your troops ‘efore it could spread.”

“So thoughtful of you,” she rolled her eyes while still laughing behind her hand.

“’S still your move,” he informed her.

She rebuilt her defenses despite the fact that his pieces randomly flew at her on bizarre kamikaze missions.

“Spike, you’ve only got a knight and a pawn left!” she finally protested. “There’s no way you can win.”

“Like you’re much better off, pet,” he gestured to the scant pieces she had remaining.

“But I’m about to switch it up,” she declared, advancing her pawn to the end of the board. “Queen me,” she said with the smug conviction of someone who knows they’ve just won.

Spike grumbled slightly to himself and promptly got up and stalked out of the room.

“Spikey?” she leaned to one side curiously, trying to figure out what _that_ had been about. She heard sounds of rustling and fiddling about it the background. “What are you doing, baby?”

He marched back into the room and sat down in his previous seat sullenly.

“What’s up?” her brow furrowed for a minute.

He removed her pawn and in its place put two red checkers stacked on top of each other.

“ _Spike_?!” she blurted out in relief and amusement. “What on earth?!”

“’S a stupid Checkers rule, so you only get a Checkers queen,” Spike stuck his tongue out at her.

“Not. Laughing.” Buffy bit her lower lip.

“Oh, c’mon, pet…” He gave her a playful little grin. “I mean, I know I couldn’t get you a white one, since Checkers doesn’t _have_ a white piece…”

“Still. Not. Laughing.” She was half convinced her side was going to split.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Crush a bloke’s last hope, why don’t you?” he conceded, putting her real queen back on the board.

He moved his king out of the way.

Buffy advanced her rook, cornering him. “Ha! Checkmate!” she squealed in delight.

“Not yet,” he insisted.

“Looks like checkmate to me,” Buffy looked at the board carefully.

“Ah, but you’ve forgotten one thing, luv,” he shook one finger at her.

“And what’s that?” she asked, smiling slightly…

And then screeching as she was tackled back onto the carpet.

“You can’t kill my king if you’re…otherwise occupied,” he purred softly above her, nipping at her throat.

“Spike!” she protested.

“Buffy,” he sighed, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “You see,” he began peppering her face with kisses, “the white pieces had this beautiful warrior Goddess that was keepin’ ‘em goin’ all this time…”

“And what happened to her?” Buffy asked, tangling her fingers into his hair and holding him to her.

“Seems she got seduced away from her callin’ by the dashing war God of the black side,” he teased her.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Sounds like the black and white sides both kinda lose that way,” she commented.

“But their patron deities get a good deal out o’ it,” his lips returned to hers.

“A tie then?” she sighed when he pulled away.

“A tie,” he agreed.


	4. Night Terrors

2012…

 _Cold._

 _So cold and dark…_

 _Must escape!_

 _Closing in…walls on all sides…coffin…too close…have to get out…have to break free…_

 _Claw, scratch, thrash, beat, punch out._

 _Clawing, clawing, clawing…_

 _Through!_

 _Oh god, dirt falling in…drowning…_

 _Can’t breathe, can’t think, have to escape, have to dig…_

 _Hands bleeding, arms aching, dirt still falling, spit it out, keep clawing, keep fighting…_

 _Why isn’t the surface there?_

 _Clawed at least six feet…doesn’t matter keep going, can’t die, can’t drown, not like this._

 _Keep clawing forever…_

 _Hand slapping me in the face? Huh?_

“Wake up! C’mon, wake up!”

“Ugh,” Buffy groaned, her eyes fluttering open. “Spike?” she whispered softly, instantly confused about how she had gotten out of her coffin.

“Buffy-luv,” his fingers brushed her hair back from her face with calm, reassuring strokes. “Shh, it’s OK. I’m here…”

She shivered slightly and let him pull her into his arms. “Had that dream again,” she whimpered softly, burying her head deep in his shoulder.

“It’s all right, my love,” he continued to coo nonsense into her ear. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. It’s all over…”

She clutched at him desperately, trying to dispel her nightmare. His hands caressed her back slowly, tracing little circles in the hard knots that had formed there and relaxing her. She rested her head right over his heart, and even though it didn’t beat, the vibrations of his chest when he spoke had a soothing effect on her.

She finally sniffed a little and looked up at him.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked gently, stroking her cheek with strong fingers.

“B-Better,” she stuttered, shivers still running through her body lightly.

“’S right nasty, innit, pet?” he lay back down and pillowed her head on his chest. “Don’t let it get to you, though. S’all over now…”

She just lay there for a while, enjoying the feel of cool muscle beneath her head.

“Spike, baby?” she finally whispered softly.

“Yeah, luv?” his hand returned to her hair, gliding over its smoothness.

“It _will_ go away, right?” she asked once again.

“Stopped for me when I was around twenty-five,” he reassured her. “Haven’t had the dream in over thirty years now.”

“It’s been a while,” she commented.

“A little over four months,” he agreed, “an’ it’ll just keep getting better, luv.”

“Promise?” she asked softly.

“Promise,” he smiled down at her.

She propped herself up and inched over so that her head rested in the crook of his throat. “Thanks,” she murmured softly, giving her bite mark there a light kiss.

“’ll always be here for you, Buffy.” He placed a kiss in her hair as well.

“I know,” she curled one arm around him and held him close. “Forever.”

“Forever,” he whispered back.

“Spikey?” she asked, her eyelids drooping again.

“Yeah, luv?”

“Hold me close tonight?”

“’Course,” he sighed, closing his own eyes.

“’Night,” Buffy said softly to her sleeping lover before drifting off herself.


	5. Grave

_2080…_

It was a calm, peaceful night. A layer of fog had risen up from the river, covering the field with thick, white mist and nearly concealing its ancient purpose. However, every so often a cold, stone cross would rise from the cloud, identifying the old graveyard behind the abbey.

And then, suddenly, the stillness and quiet of the churchyard was broken.

A slight giggle, the sound of running footsteps, some scrambling, and suddenly a figure alighted on the top of the stone wall that surrounded the cemetery.

The figure struck up a cocky and arrogant pose, obviously laughing down at someone on the other side.

A few seconds later, the sounded of curse words was swallowed up by the fog.

Then the figure on the wall leaned over and stretched out a helping hand. Soon, a second, taller figure was on the wall beside her.

“Wench,” Spike muttered under his breath, still scowling at the look of complete and utter mirth on Buffy’s face.

“Do it again,” Buffy batted his arm playfully, completely unconcerned with his insults.

“No,” he sulked, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Pretty please?” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“No,” he repeated, thoroughly ignoring her.

“C’mon, baby,” she sidled up right next to him, planting light kisses up and down his throat. “Pretty, _pretty_ please?”

He sighed and looked as though he were about to relent for a minute before he grabbed her roughly around the waist and fell backwards over the wall.

There was a loud screech, but both agile predators managed to land on their feet inside the cemetery.

“Just for that,” Buffy pouted, sticking out her lower lip, “next time I’m not helping you up.”

He flashed her a rakish grin and gave her an eyebrow waggle. “Now, where’s you sense of fun, Slayer?”

She gave him a little, amused smile and turned to look around at the graveyard. “So this is home, huh? Kinda gloomy…”

“Hasn’t been home in a _long_ time, an’ you know it, pet,” he snorted derisively, huffing slightly at her comment.

“Aww…poor Spikey. Did I hurt his wittle feewings?” she teased him mercilessly.

“Someone’s in a bitchy mood tonight, aren’t they?” he retorted.

“I know,” she agreed, patting him on the hand. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

“ _You_ forgive _me_?!” he growled, outraged.

Buffy squealed when he caught her up in his arms and shoved her forcefully back against the nearest tree. He was upon her in less than a second, lips plundering hers, hands roaming wildly. She murmured softly into his mouth, savoring every little thing about him. Touch, sight, sound, smell, taste…

When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping unnecessarily for air.

“Wanna go back to the motel?” Spike asked huskily.

“Not yet,” Buffy managed to fight back her baser urges. “Wanna see first…”

“Let’s go find it, then,” he nodded, taking her hand and leading her through the tombstones.

“Hurry,” she panted slightly, her arm wrapping around his waist.

He smiled down at her, and one hand went around her shoulders, holding him tightly to him. She rested her head on his own powerful shoulder – just the perfect height to be her pillow – and like that, they searched the graveyard.

“I think you’re lost,” she teased after a little while.

“Am not,” he retorted, “jus’ ‘aven’t been a while ‘s all…”

“Lost,” she giggled slightly into his shoulder.

“Humph,” he said sulkily before he apparently recognized something ahead. “There!” he said triumphantly.

They walked over to the old mausoleum, and Buffy took in the grumbling façade. She wiped away a bit of the grime and read the family name on the old crypt. She turned to look at him with a small smile.

“So where aren’t you?” she joked lightly.

“This way,” he led her over to an elegant headstone that had crumbled some over time due to neglect.

“Isn’t it bad luck to stand over your own grave?” Buffy asked lightly.

“What? You think ‘m gonna come back from the dead an’ haunt myself?” he joked, giving her a light squeeze.

“ ‘William’…” she read aloud, finding the same last name as the mausoleum. She said the complete name a few times, testing it out on her tongue. “ ‘1854-1880. Devoted son, beloved brother’…”

“He didn’t save the world a lot,” Spike quipped.

Buffy gave him an annoyed look and whapped him lightly in the shoulder. He gave a mock cry of anguish, and she stifled her laughter behind her hand.

“ ‘May Heaven have mercy on his soul’,” Spike shook his head at the last line on the marker of his past incarnation.

“And may heaven keep his soul as far away from the man I love as is physically possible,” Buffy added softly.

The humorous smirk on his face vanished, and he leaned in to give her a quick, chaste kiss. “I love you,” he told her seriously.

“And I love you,” she smiled up at him, her hand gently stroking his cheek. “Happy 200th birthday, my beloved.” She leaned forward at nibbled lightly at the hollow of his throat, teasing the smooth, sensitive skin there.

He purred slightly at her touch and closed his eyes.

In the background, Big Ben chimed one.

“Back to the motel?” she gave him a seductive smile.

He nodded dumbly.

And in another minute the cemetery was once again silent, the empty grave they had just abandoned prepared to hold its secret for another two centuries…


	6. Mirror, Mirror

_2038…_

“This ‘ad better be good,” Spike huffed, sitting down on the edge of Fletcher Price’s desk and fixing him with an annoyed scowl.

Buffy’s lips twitched a bit in a smile at her mate’s antics as she watched the former Watcher squirm in his chair.

“I _did_ call you here out of courtesy,” the British man said down his nose at Spike. “I just thought you’d like to see it for yourself.”

“What?” Spike demanded.

Buffy couldn’t deny that she was curious as well. Magical artifact, big secret, hush hush, and all…

“It’s in the drawing room,” Fletcher replied, apparently unperturbed by Spike’s low growl. “I expect you’ll notice it right away.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged annoyed glances.

“We’re not going off on some scavenger hunt around the mansion,” Buffy informed him.

Fletcher actually looked like he was trying to suppress a _smile_ , of all things. “Trust me,” he informed them with barely contained amusement, “you’ll want to discover this one on your own.”

Spike got right in his face and gave him an angry snort while Buffy rolled her eyes and stood up.

“Let’s go, baby,” she pulled Spike away from Fletcher. “See what the big deal is…”

The smile was definitely evident on Fletcher’s face as he watched them leave. “And don’t do anything…inappropriate!” he shouted after them.

“No promises there,” Spike grumbled under his breath as they walked to the old drawing room.

Stepping inside, everything seemed the same to Buffy at first. Familiar furnishings, fire roaring in the fireplace, some new potted plants, a bit of a mess that one of the kids had left behind… She slowly turned around, looking around the room, puzzled.

“La-bloody-da, we’re here,” Spike said testily. “There’s nothin’ ‘ere.”

Buffy smiled a bit to herself at her lover’s infamous impatience. And then she stopped and stared in complete and utter amazement at one of the walls.

“Think Fletch’s puttin’ us on, pet,” Spike said, yet to discover the miracle. “Best go up an’ give ‘im a good yellin’ at.”

“S-Spike,” Buffy caught his hand in hers, still frozen in place in shock.

“What ‘s it, luv?” he looked at her curiously…and then he saw the two figures as well. “Bloody ‘ell…” he whispered in awe.

Together they took a few hesitant steps toward the two other figures, and the others came up to greet them. With a shaky hand, Buffy finally reached forward to touch the glass mounted on the wall. Behind the full-length mirror, the woman across from her did the same. Her reflection…

A delighted little giggled escaped Buffy’s lips. “It’s me,” she said in surprise and delight.

Cautiously, Spike reached his hand out as well, the form he’d seen only in pictures and brief video clips for the past 150 years doing the same. “Bloody hell…” he repeated.

“It’s us,” Buffy smiled, watching her reflection smile back at her.

Spike smiled as well, watching the changes in a face that had become unfamiliar over time. “OK, maybe we don’t kill the twerp after all,” he said, his grin suddenly splitting from ear to ear.

“We look good,” Buffy commented, wrapping one arm around Spike’s waist and tilting her head to the side, eyeing their reflections critically. “We’re a pretty cute couple, actually.”

Spike snorted and rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help from smiling again when he saw his reflection mimic his actions. “I still object to the ‘cute’,” he said through his idiotic grin.

“Do you think we should…?” Buffy said hesitantly, looking around. They were, of course, still alone.

“Why not?” Spike shrugged, still looking into the mirror.

They both gave each other a brief smile and did the only possible thing in such circumstances: began making funny faces.

Tongues stuck out, eyebrows waggled, eyes crossed and uncrossed, faces vamped and unvamped, many ‘bunny ears’ and ‘vamp fangs’ were given, and before long they were both howling on the floor in hysterics.

“This ‘s jus’ brilliant!” Spike exclaimed, tracing his fingers over his scared eyebrow curiously and watching the vampire in the mirror do the same.

“Whoever came up with this was a genius,” Buffy agreed. “Vamps’d pay _fortunes_ for a mirror like this.”

“Wonder how it was done,” Spike commented thoughtfully. “Dark magic, no doubt…”

Buffy curled up next to him and leaned her head on his chest, watching the couple in the mirror snuggle up in the same position.

“Think Fletcher’d let us borrow it for a couple of nights?” Buffy inquired teasingly.

“Hmm…” Spike murmured and kissed her hair, his eyes never leaving the mirror. “You havin’ the same naughty thoughts I am?”

“Great minds think alike,” Buffy agreed, smiling slightly.

Her gave her a seductive smirk. “Damn,” he said, watching the glass, “do I look sexy…”

“Hey, watch it, Narcissus,” Buffy shoved him playfully, “only _I’m_ allowed to fall in love with your striking good looks.”

“You’ve got good taste, luv,” he teased.

Buffy gave him a playful growl and tackled him back onto the carpet. Their lips found each other frantically, both keeping one eye on the mirror as they deepened their kiss.

“ _Definitely_ need to borrow this one for a while…” Buffy finally said, her entire body tingling from their kiss.

“ _Definitely_ ,” Spike agreed.

And together, they turned back to watch themselves some more…


	7. Darkest Hour

_2018…_

“Spike?”

Buffy ran one hand through her lover’s hair. He didn’t even so much as stir, and she sighed. She had seen that glazed look in his eyes before and knew only too well what it meant. He didn’t even blink when she passed in front of him, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall.

She crawled into bed on the other side of him and watched the motion of his bare back as it rose and fell with the occasional breaths he still took out of habit.

“It’s a cloudy night,” she informed him. “Very windy, too. Nice and warm, but maybe I should just stay in tonight. That OK, baby?”

He didn’t respond. That was as good as an affirmative when he was in one of _these_ moods.

“C’mere.” She caught his hand and pulled him over to her.

He head settled down against her shoulder, and she heard him breathe in her scent. That was a good sign. He was more responsive than usual this time, which probably meant he’d snap out of it sooner.

Buffy picked up the collection of Blake’s poetry from the bedside table and began to try to read, Spike still snuggled into her side.

She’d taken quite an interest in poetry over the past few years. Of all the arts her mate dabbled in, it was poetry that he was the worst at by far. And yet it had been a poet that he’d wanted to be. Sometimes she could almost see the lure that had drawn him in when they read aloud to each other. Such beauty and grace and elegance…

Trying to read it now was a futile gesture, though. It was impossible to concentrate with him just lying there like that, so listless and far from his normal self.

She knew from frequent experience that just letting him come back to his usual bouncy self on his own was the best strategy. Occasionally, just holding him helped, but even that never stopped her from worrying incessantly whenever this happened.

And she’d been forced to admit something very difficult: her lover had a problem and she couldn’t fix it no matter how hard she tried.

The first part she’d known all along. The signs had been there from the beginning: excessive impatience, mercurial mood changes, dizzying bursts of energy followed by miserable drunken bouts… Buffy wasn’t quite sure what he had, and she’d read a lot on the subject. Whatever it was, it had elements of ADD, bipolar disorder, and a bit of depression.

Mixed in with the oddities of a vampire’s psyche, it made for one hell of an odd disorder. And, unfortunately, also completely untreatable…

But this was the only part of it that she still had difficulty dealing with. She could still recall the first time he’d just blanked out on her. To say that she’d been a little freaked was an understatement. He’d explained afterwards that he just sometimes got that way. He usually blocked out the depression with drink or worse.

That had been the only thing she’d been able to do for him: stop the drinking.

He was much better for it. And he would admit so even in his most stubborn moods. He had been depressed less and less over the years, and he’d given her most of the credit. In fact, it had been nearly three years since the last time this happened.

Shaking her head, she tried to return her attention to her book. A familiar passage caught her eye, and she read aloud to him:

    “ _‘When wolves and tygers howl for prey,_  
 _They pitying stand and weep;_  
 _Seeking to drive their thirst away,_  
 _And keep them from the sheep;_  
 _But if they rush dreadful…’_ “

She watched him wince in anticipation of the next line. That was good. It meant that he was paying attention. However, Buffy figured it was probably best not to mention the word ‘Angel’ at the moment and skipped ahead. Anger was _not_ the best emotion to try to invoke in him at these times…

“ _‘And there the lion’s ruddy eyes / Shall flow with tears of gold’_ ,” she quoted. “You have beautiful eyes, you know.” She stroked his hair in a soothing manner and was rewarded when he curled up a bit closer to her.

This response was more than she could possibly have hoped for this early in the relapse, and she took great heart at this fact. While he generally wasn’t out of it for more than two days at most, she missed him horribly during those periods. Maybe this would be one of the lucky times when he came back to her in a few hours.

“I love your eyes,” she whispered, letting her lips brush his forehead. “I love everything about you, actually, but I especially love your eyes… You know why?”

He still didn’t respond, and she sighed before continuing.

“They’re so blue. And I can see the blue changing in them. Sometimes it’s clear and bright, and sometimes it’s dark and stormy, and sometimes…” She paused, not knowing quite how to finish. “I don’t remember that much about Heaven,” she began slowly. “Not anymore. But sometimes when I look into your eyes, and I see the blue there, I figure that’s got to be the blue of Heaven…”

He nuzzled her shoulder lightly, and a smile lit up her face at the signs that he was recovering already.

“I love your golden eyes, too,” she went on, “so sharp and predatory. But I can still see you down deep within them. I can always see how much you love me. I think that’s what I love the most about your eyes. When I look into them I know I’m seeing the real you.”

Her hand began gently massaging his back, and she could felt the corded muscles relaxing at her touch.

“Feeling better, love?” she asked hopefully.

He still wasn’t answering, but he let out a long breath against her side, tickling the sensitive flesh there and giving her little goosebumps.

“I’ll just keep reading then,” she said matter-of-factly, returning to her book.

A little smile quirked across her lips when he began stirring slightly beside her. They were little, insignificant moves. But, for a vampire who didn’t have to move at all, they were definitive signs of life.

Her smile broadened to a grin when his arm lazily wrapped around her waist, holding her tighter to him. He continued to be silent, though, and after a while she made a little pouty face.

“I know you’re out of it, you know.” She prodded his shoulder. “And I _so_ deserve a kiss for having to go through that again.”

He looked up at her and gave her a rakish grin but still didn’t respond.

“Humph!” Buffy flipped through the book until she found the right page.

    “ _‘Can I see another’s woe,_  
 _And not be in sorrow too?_  
 _Can I see another’s grief,_  
 _And not seek for kind relief?_  
 _Can I see a falling tear,_  
 _And not feel my sorrow’s share?’_ ”

She paused in mid-verse.

“You bastard,” she felt obliged to add to the last line. Really, his playing hard-to-get was just too much!

“’m sorry,” he murmured against her throat, sliding his body right alongside hers.

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered softly against his lips.

His kiss was unusually tender and loving, a far cry from the wild passion that consumed them so often.

“I mean ‘m sorry ‘bout…” He gesticulated wildly, indicating the situation around them.

Buffy’s eyes widened for a second in realization, and she caught his chin in her palm before he could look away.

“Don’t be,” she insisted sternly. “Don’t you _ever_ be sorry! I love you so much…everything about you. Even this.”

He gave her a sad little smile. “You shouldn’t have to put up with—”

“I do _not_ ‘put up’ with anything!” she declared. “I want to be with you – _all_ of you – and I’ll take the quirky parts right along with the…er…”

“Non-quirky parts?” he suggested bemusedly.

“Do you even _have_ non-quirky parts?” she teased.

“Humph,” he mock-sulked. “Tryin’ to put me right back into a depression, you are, pet.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and gave him another kiss. “That enough to keep you out of it?” she asked lightly.

“Dunno. Couldn’t tell. Try it again.”

She batted him playfully on the head with her pillow before returning to the comforting circle of his arms.

“I’m glad you’re back so soon,” she said softly, resting her forehead against his.

“Me, too.” There was a long silence. “I wish I never had to leave you…” he finally added.

“Just make sure you always come back to me,” she requested, looking into those azure eyes that she loved so much.

“Always, luv. Always…”


	8. Reprieve

_2059…_

January first.

The start of a new year.

Spike slowly opened his eyes and shifted slightly on the mattress, drawing Buffy closer into his embrace.

She murmured softly against his shoulder but didn’t wake up. After all, it had been a tiring week.

He took a deep breath and began the catalogue that he made every new year as they lay side by side. Start from the bottom up, same as always…

Their feet were both tangled in the sheet at the foot of the bed. He could feel it wrapped around her toes and then pressed gently into the back of his calf as her foot brushed slowly against the muscle in her sleep.

Her other knee was just _barely_ not touching his. He could feel the electrical connection between the two, pulling them together, however. He decided that it counted as a touch and added it to the list.

At his waist, her thigh lazily straddled him as she lay on her side. He could feel the pale silk of her inner thigh against the bone of his hip, the lower muscles of his stomach. As they each took occasional, unnecessary breaths of air, he could feel her thigh shifting slightly, rubbing lightly at the course hairs between his thighs, tickling him slightly.

Moving only slightly further up, her stomach was pressed firmly up against the slope just above his hip. She was almost twisted on top of him here, her own soft body fitting against his tightly.

The soft silk of her short nightgown spilled onto his stomach, its satin a delightful texture, although not so wondrous as her skin…

Through its fabric, he could feel the peaks of her breasts, flattened slightly as they molded to the muscles of his chest. As she moved ever so slightly, the fabric rubbed between the two of them here, in a way more sensual because it hinted at intimacies beyond mere skin and skin contact.

One of her arms wrapped gently around his chest, holding him to her as she slept. Her hand came to rest on one of his flat pectorals, her thumb just lightly brushing the nipple there. Her fingers stroking slowly back and forth against his skin, caressing him instinctively.

Her other hand was up above her head, her wrist curving softly against their pillow, the very tips of her fingers twined softly into his peroxide locks.

Her cheek rested against his shoulder, having long since abandoned the pillow in favor of her mate’s body. She pressed up snuggly into the crook of him arm, her lips just barely brushing his collarbone and her irregular breaths tickling the mark on his throat where she’d marked him as hers that first time…

His own arm was wrapped around her back, his hand gently resting against her side, thankful for the fact that he had no circulation so he would never have to move from this wonderful position. He allowed his fingers to stroke up and down the blue silk of her gown a few times, teasing the sensitive skin beneath it and making her nerves tingle in that way he knew she loved.

His head rest above her on the pillow, the cascades of her long, golden hair just out of his reach on the pillow. He watched the swirls and eddies of the silken locks before him, trying to discern the secrets of the universe in their soft flow.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet vanilla of her shampoo, the soft rose of her perfume, the clean fresh scent of her soap that didn’t quite cover up the fundamental smell that was hers and hers alone…or his own scent upon her.

He listened for a moment, taking in the deep purr that resonated throughout her chest, mingling with his own, broken only occasionally by the breaths she took.

For one second, he closed his eyes, burning every one of these sensations into memory, running over them again in his head so that this minute would never be lost.

Then he opened his eyes again and leaned slowly into her, planting a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

She murmured softly in appreciation of his touch.

“Luv?” he whispered softly against her hair. “Wake up, luv…”

She stirred slightly and opened her eyes, her lashes fluttering against his shoulder as she did so. “It evening already?” she asked lazily, a definite intention behind the motion of her hand on his chest and her foot against his calf now.

“No,” he informed her softly, “’s the new year.”

“Mmm…” Buffy sighed in acknowledgment and shifted her weight against him slightly. “You’ve done the catalogue already then?” she inquired.

“Down to every last detail,” he agreed.

“So what wins this year?”

“Your foot.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “My foot?” she repeated curiously, brushing her toes up and down his calf through the sheets once more. “Are you developing some strange sort of foot fetish I should start worrying about?” she teased.

“’ve got a fetish ‘bout every part of you,” he replied with a wry smirk, giving her a brief kiss on the lips. “You know that.”

She sighed contentedly and nuzzled his throat affectionately. “So why my foot?” she finally asked once she had him purring like a kitten in her arms.

“Feels sorta…casual,” he responded after thinking it over for a minute. “Comfortable. Like you’re here to stay.”

“I am here to stay,” she assured him softly. “I’ll never leave you, William…”

“Me, neither, ‘Lizabeth.” He was rather charmed by her rare use of his real name and decided to return the favor. “Jus’ you an’ me, luv, never havin’ to worry ‘bout bein’ alone again…”

“Never ever,” she agreed softly, a small smile on her lips. “Happy New Year, my love.”

“Happy New Year,” he echoed, leaning in and stealing a fresh kiss from his mate’s lips…


	9. Prey

_2020…_

She paused, all of her senses on alert. Far off to her right, she heard a faint rustling in the bushes. Just an innocent forest creature, or her prey?

She flared her nostrils, trying to pick up the scent of whatever had made the sound. But the dew that had settled in at nightfall spread the scents around her to the extent that she couldn’t definitively place the slight demon musk that was in the air.

She took one step closer to the source of the sound, keen eyes and ears warily searching for any signs of ambush. That slight sixth sense of hers was tingling a bit, but it hadn’t set the hairs at the back of her neck on end yet. Good. That meant that she was still the hunter, not the hunted.

She approached the offending bush with the caution of one who had known far too much danger in her life. Still nothing.

Her hand reached out and… She almost let out a squeal of surprise when the two sparrows that were just settling down for the night suddenly decided that they’d really be much happier sleeping up in the tree where the stalking vampire couldn’t get at them.

Buffy Summers let out a brief sigh of relief, checked just to make sure the bushes were vacant now, and continued on the hunt.

The forest was eerily quiet now, a mist rolling in from the hills and obscuring sight, sound, and smell. She turned more heavily to her sixth senses, following the slightest of pulls in her bones that told her that this was the correct way.

She dodged and ducked through the trees as stealthily – and deadly – as a jungle cat, hot on the trail of the elusive demon still hidden in these woods.

Several other forest animals skittered out of the way at her approach. There was nothing willing to take its chances with this predator of the night. None but one…

Buffy jerked her head abruptly to the left. She would have _sworn_ she’d seen a pair of yellow, demonic eyes amidst the branches there. All that was there now were a few tree trunks and branches with the first yellowing leaves of autumn. Was that all it had been then? A few yellow leaves in the familiar pattern of demon eyes?

She heard a snap behind her and spun around once more. Again, nothing.

This was the sort of situation one usually had back up for. At least one other to stand at your back and make sure that nothing snuck up behind you. The man she was used to having at her back, however, wouldn’t be able to help her now. In this one hunt, she was alone…

She spun back around when she heard a rustling – from the left this time. Her prey was obviously trying to confuse her, to trick her…

She looked back in the other direction, and that’s when the demon hit her from behind. She was tackled forward hard onto the ground and, if she had still needed to breathe, the force of the blow would’ve knocked the wind right out of her.

Somehow she managed to twist beneath her attacker so that she was now facing him, fending off clawed hands and fangs.

He gave her an evil little toothy grin. “ ‘How soon does the hunter become the hunted’,” he quoted before he lunged at her throat.

Buffy managed to squirm to the side just in time to avoid his fangs. Unfortunately, she lost her grip on one of his hands as she did so, and it was all the opportunity he needed to come in for the kill.

Buffy let out a little squeal…and then began giggling uncontrollably. “Stop,” she begged. “Oh god, please stop! _Spike_ , that tickles!”

Spike merely chuckled and continued to tickle her side mercilessly. As she convulsively thrashed about beneath him, she released her grip on his other wrist, and he attacked her other side.

“Spike!” she screamed amidst fits of laughter.

“Gotcha,” he said triumphantly, leaning down to her exposed throat and gently nibbling at his bite mark there with his fangs.

Buffy’s chest let out a contented little rumble, and he finally stopped tickling her and clutched her to his body instead. She nuzzled his own neck in response, her fangs skimming her mark as well.

“I win,” Spike declared after he had overcome the intoxicating scent of her perfume. “’m just better’n you is the only explanation for it,” he bragged. “’m superior in every way, an’ you’d better bow down an’ get all kittenish’n’cuddly with me if you want to live…er, _un_ live…”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “This from a guy who’s _still_ losing eleven to nineteen…”

“’S twelve to eighteen,” he countered.

“I _so_ beat you that time!” Buffy insisted. “I had you purring like a sleeping kitten!”

“That was _after_ I beat you,” Spike retorted. “Couldn’t stand losing so you resorted to dirty tactics.”

“Hmm,” Buffy said with a small smile. “Maybe I’ll resort to them again…” She began stroking his sensitive brow-ridges slowly with her knuckles.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and purred in response.

“I could defeat you in an instant now, y’know,” she whispered softly into his ear. “Should I?”

“Cheater.”

“Always.”

He let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.

“But I’d still be willing to get ‘all kittenish and cuddly’,” she informed him.

“That’s my girl,” he smiled down at her.

She smiled back up at him. “That’s my boy,” she countered, provoking him to roll his eyes just before his lips met hers…


	10. Alone

_2047…_

With an exhausted sigh, Buffy shut the hotel door behind her. She listened at the door to make sure that the vampire at the other end had gone and fastened the latch before walking over to her dresser.

She touched up her roots with black eye, looking directly into the mirror as she did so out of old habit. After forty years, her lack of reflection no longer struck her as odd.

Satisfied that her hair was thoroughly black once more, she wrapped a towel around it to prevent staining and collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

She absolutely _hated_ undercover work. Unfortunately, it was required of her every now and again, especially when Fletcher needed someone to pass off in a vampire gang, like she was now. These assignments were always the worst because other vamps had absolutely no manners whatsoever. They would always fight over who got to claim her as mate after she first arrived, and then she’d have to kick the crap out of whatever winner managed not to notice the fresh puncture marks on her throat that indicated that she was taken.

She’d just finished a rather tiring battle earlier tonight, in fact.

Even worse was the dread of being caught every second. Buffy had never really been that good a liar, but she’d picked up the skills of undercover work over the years. She now shuddered at how completely inept she’d been at it back when she was human.

But, still, the endless work was tiring…

She rolled over onto her side and gently caressed the pillow beside her with one hand.

This was what she missed the most, though. That horrible feeling when she woke up in the morning and reached over for her mate, only to find that he wasn’t beside her… Buffy hadn’t willingly spent a night from Spike’s bed ever since he’d been turned, and whenever the situation was forced upon her, it left her with this odd little feeling in her stomach. Like something vital was missing.

But, they really had no choice when it came to missions like this. The two of them had become infamous over the years, and the two of them together were too easy to spot for any undercover type of work. This meant that they both had to work alone a vast majority of the time.

Of course, she’d come up with ways to deal with the loneliness over the years…

She sat up and pulled the top sheet and comforter out from where they were tucked under the edges of the mattress. She’d never quite gotten the whole sleeping-in-an-envelope thing. The blankets now loose and flat on the bed, she proceeded to separate them into two categories: those she needed to wrap herself in tonight, and those that she didn’t.

Those that she did need quickly formed a pile on one of the vacant easy chairs in the posh hotel room that this sect of the Order of Dareios had provided her with during her stay. The blankets she didn’t need remained on the bed.

Buffy stood over them when her separating was done and quickly got to work. She turned the pillows on Spike’s side of the bed sideways so that they would form a little barrier when she rolled up against them in the middle of the night. The blankets she bunched up beneath the pillows, creating the rough shape of the lower half of a body.

She studied the completed effect intently when she was done, satisfied with her work. The effect it created was that someone was bundled up tight within the blankets right next to where she would be sleeping. It helped that Spike tended to be a blanket hog and would have himself tied up in knots by the time evening came around. Of course, she couldn’t imitate the tousled shock of platinum hair that inevitably stuck out of the bundle of blankets whenever Spike was in it, but this would do in a pitch.

She gathered her own blankets and spread them out over her side as well as her dummy companion before slipping into bed.

With a contented little murmur, she wrapped her arms around the imitation Spike and rested her head roughly where his chest would be.

The illusion of closeness wasn’t good enough, so she threw one leg over her companion’s ‘waist’ and closed her eyes. She intentionally didn’t breathe so she wouldn’t be forced to face the reality that her love wasn’t really with her.

This was probably the cruelest part. In order to keep up her deception, she was forced to wash his scent from her body. She’d never really gotten the importance of smells before she became a vampire, but now she almost felt a pain of despair whenever she flared her nostrils and didn’t pick up Spike’s comforting musk. It was as much a part of her as her own hand now. Yeah, waking up and suddenly lacking a hand…that was pretty much what it felt like without Spike-scent.

She shifted a bit in her current position and found it unsatisfactory; something was missing.

She quickly extracted an extra sheet from the linen closet and twisted it up so that it was in roughly the shape of a thick rope. She wrapped the rope around her waist a few times and returned to her previously position curled up around the bundle of blankets.

There. The sheet could never fully emulate the strength of his arm about her waist, of course, but it created the illusion of being held as she went to sleep well enough.

She lay there for a while, stroking the comforter she imagined Spike was wrapped up in and wishing he was there so that he could make some smart-ass comments before bed. Maybe a little innuendo, a few ‘I love you’s, followed by something so outrageous that she just _had_ to whack him with her pillow… She smiled.

And froze when she heard a knock at her door.

She quickly slipped into her robe, making sure her spare stake was in her pocket first. She cautiously opened the door and breathed an inward sigh of relief when she saw that it was just the fledgling the Dareians kept as doorman.

“This just arrived for you by delivery,” he informed her, holding out the single item in his hand.

Buffy took it and thanked him with a small smile before shutting and locking her door again.

Her smile grew to a broad grin when she took a sniff of the little bundle of flowers. They were assorted, kind of ratty-looking ones, just like the cheap little bundles you’d use to put on gravestones. Only one person had ever tried to give her these kind of flowers before… Although, admittedly, in the earlier years of their relationship, he’d usually managed to rip them to shreds before she even got a hold of them.

She took another deep sniff and then lay the flowers by her bedside. There was no card. There was no need. Plus, it was too dangerous.

She curled back up against makeshift Spike and tightened the sheet about her waist in her best imitation of his firm embrace. Sleep overcame her more easily this time, and she felt herself drifting off.

“I love you, Spike,” she whispered into the empty room, before falling asleep alone…


	11. Family

_2067…_

Buffy paused and sniffed the air, crouching on the ground, ready to leap at any moment. Ten feet to her right, Spike mirrored her motions, the two perfectly in sync as they began the hunt.

The full moon was shinning down through the branches of the trees, and a chill howl sounded in the darkness of the night, signaling that the hunt was on.

Buffy and Spike moved again, practically invisible in the blackness as they moved through the park with the grace of twin tigers.

After a brief pause, Spike gestured over to his left, and Buffy nodded, following his lead.

The pair quickly closed in on several storage sheds surrounded by a chain link fence. Buffy kept silent guard when Spike climbed over, just as he did for her. Still, no sign of their quarry, but the scent was growing stronger.

They snuck between the sheds, looking around every corner, making sure that their target didn’t manage to double back behind them. They needn’t have worried, however.

Spike abruptly held up one hand, gesturing for Buffy to stop. In this one situation, she obeyed him without question. She watched nervously as he approached the narrow gap between two of the sheds, her own heightened senses letting her know all too clearly that the object of their little hunt was between them.

She saw Spike duck down and then exclaim “Gotcha!” with a triumphant little smile. Buffy breathed a sigh of relief and couldn’t help but smile when he lifted the small child in his arms up for her to see, a wide mischievous grin spread across both their faces.

The toddler in question was missing one of his front teeth and seemed a bit furrier than one would usually expect from a child.

“Aunt Buffy!” the child exclaimed in delight. “Unca Spike’s the bestest at hide’n’seek, isn’t he?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. Werewolves in their terrible twos were the absolute _worst_. “Yup,” she agreed with a friendly smile, “Uncle Spike found you really fast.”

“I lost him over by the merry-go-round!” the toddler proclaimed proudly.

“Sure did, Pup,” Spike said, giving the child’s hair a quick tussle. “But ya shouldn’t’ve scared your Mum and Dad like that. They worry ‘bout you when you run off.”

The child sniffled slightly. “Was just havin’ fun...” he insisted, looking up at Spike with big, round, blue eyes.

“’Course you were, Li’l Cub,” Spike said with a reassuring smile. “Jus’ make sure your folks know what you’re up to in the future.”

“Yes, Unca Spike,” the child said, fully chastised.

“Now,” Spike said, giving the toddler a gentle tap on the nose, “how ‘bout we play airplane to get you outta this place?”

“Airpwane?!” the wolf pup squealed in delight.

Buffy groaned at the shit-eating grin Spike flashed her way. “Yeah, fine,” she agreed reluctantly, “airplane...”

The child was practically bouncing up and down in Spike’s arms now in excitement, and the vampire had to resort to tickling him into submission.

Buffy couldn’t help but smile fondly at her mate as she watched him set his full energy on tickling the young boy mercilessly. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and his eyes were dancing in merriment. He, of course, had the strength to break the child in two with the merest flick of his wrist, but he was always so gentle with children.

Buffy loved to watch him like this, childish enthusiasm proudly bared for the world to see. It made him look so much younger, so much more innocent... And it made her want to do whatever it took to make sure that nothing ever again broke the heart of this powerful, tender man she’d taken as her mate. It made her want to hold him close and never let him go and...well, do a lot of things that would be completely inappropriate with a child present. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“Airpwane!” the toddler was still screaming enthusiastically.

“Have ta make sure the landin’ gear’s in order first, ‘ey Pup?” Spike calmed him down, gesturing for Buffy to scale the fence.

She did so and landed gracefully on the other side.

“You ready?” Spike demanded.

“Yup,” Buffy held out her arms.

“You ready to play airplane?” Spike tickled the child’s belly one last time.

“Airpwane! Airpwane!” he squealed.

“Up you go then,” Spike held him up. “Ready, set...liftoff!”

The toddler screeched in delight as Spike gently tossed him over the top right into Buffy’s arms. She caught him carefully and had quite a chore in keeping the energetic little kid in her arms until Spike leapt over as well and relieved her of his burden.

“David!” a voice cried from across the park, dashing over to them and transforming back into full human form as she did so. “David Alexander Osborne!” she exclaimed furiously. “How many times have I told you not to run off?!” She plucked the reluctant child straight out of Spike’s arms. “Thank you,” she gave the pair of vampires a brief smile before turning back to her delinquent child. “When your father finds out—”

“But Unca Spike and Aunt Buffy and me were playin’ airpwane!” David protested.

“Airplane’s over now, Sweet Pup,” Spike assured him, his arm sliding around Buffy’s waist.

“Ew!” David made a face. “Unca Spike and Aunt Buffy are going all kissy-face!”

“Yes, well,” the child’s mother pulled him along with her, “all the more reason for us to get going then. I swear, David, your father is going to find out about this, and when he does...”

Her voice trailed off and the mother and son walked off into the distance. It was quite a while before Buffy and Spike broke off their kiss and noticed, however.

“Mmm,” Spike murmured in appreciation when Buffy gently nuzzled his throat, “what was that for, pet?”

“What I need an excuse to kiss my own mate now?” Buffy teased lightly.

“Guess that means I don’ need one either, huh?” Spike joked back, catching her lips with his.

Buffy purred in appreciation when she finally pulled back. “You’re good with kids, y’know,” she commented softly, wrapping one arm around his waist as they headed back home.

Spike shrugged sheepishly. “Cute li’l Pup,” he said, somewhat embarrassed still at being caught in one of his softer moments.

“It makes you all sexy,” she informed him. “I just wanna jump those gorgeous undead bones of yours whenever I see you being all sweet and gentle and—”

Spike cut her off with a low growl.

“Sorry, honey,” she said apologetically. “You’re the Big Bad. You’re evil and vicious and...” She had to break off laughing at this point because the image of any of those labels attached to Spike while he was tickling David into submission were just too funny.

“Humph,” Spike pouted. “’m still sexy, though?” he finally demanded.

“The sexiest,” she assured him with a small grin, laying her head down on his shoulder. They walked in silence like that for some time, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Spike?” she finally began.

“No,” he said matter-of-factly.

“No?” she inquired.

“No, I don’t regret not bein’ able to have children,” he clarified. “Same as last year, an’ the year before, an’...”

“I get the message,” Buffy assured him.

“You want ‘em?” he demanded.

She sighed. “Maybe,” she admitted. “There’s something about feeling a little Spike growing deep inside me...” she trailed off, embarrassed. “It’s kinda hard to explain. But I’m good with the way we are, baby. Really.”

“Good,” he gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “But, you ever want a li’l monster of your very own, you jus’ tell me. We got plenty o’ magics at our disposal. Should be able to manage it just fine.”

“Some day, maybe,” she agreed shyly. “You’d make a great dad,” she informed him.

He laughed. “Yeah, well, ‘s always easier when you don’t ‘ave to deal with the kid twenty-four seven...”

“You’d be _perfect_ ,” she said confidently.

“Thanks, luv,” he ducked his head shyly. “You’d make one helluva Mum yourself.”

“Mmm,” Buffy whispered softly against his ear, “keep saying things like that, and I won’t be able to restrain my urges to do naughty things to you...”

“An’ this would be a bad thing, how?” he teased.

She batted him lightly on the arm. “Wait till we get home, and I’ll show you,” she said coyly.

“That a promise?” he said with a lascivious smirk.

“Promise,” she laughed.


	12. The Beginning of Forever

_2007…_

Buffy let out deep sigh and lay back against the pillow. Spike rolled with her, his head ending up resting against her shoulder. She shut her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his cooler body pressed against her, his hand resting right over her heart, feeling her racing pulse.

Spike murmured against her throat before raising his head to check the clock. “We underestimated again,” he informed her.

“Mmm,” she nodded slowly, unconcerned with this news. “What time is it?”

“Twelve twenty-one,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Well,” Buffy said with a small smile, “those last twenty-one minutes were _definitely_ worth it...” She leaned in to give him a quick chaste kiss on the lips.

“Happy twenty-sixth birthday,” he said with a shy smile.

“Already is,” she said softly, running her fingers through his platinum hair. He purred at her caress, and an excited tingle ran down her spine just as it did every time he made that sound.

“So,” she demanded playfully, “quit stalling. Tell me all about what you did when you were twenty-six.”

He was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, trying to ignore the impact of what he had to say just a little bit longer...

“Well?” Buffy finally said impatiently.

“Din’t do much ‘f anything,” he finally said.

Buffy gave him a curious look.

“Less ‘n a month in,” he admitted slowly, “I ran into Dru in a back alley.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed a perfect little ‘oh’ of realization.

“Guess you finally solved the mystery of how old I am,” he tried to joke.

She nodded slowly, trying to process this information. She had been ready, and yet she hadn’t. But she was surprised at how confident she still was that she had made the right decision.

One of her hands covered the one over her heart. He loved to do that, feel her heartbeat, listen to it. Just like she loved the feel of him warming slowly in her arms, his own cool flesh borrowing her heat as they moved together. A little pang of loss went through her...

“This is it, huh?” Spike said with a wry laugh. “This time next year...” He suddenly turned very serious. “You know I love you, right?” he demanded, his eyes more intense than she had ever seen them. “’ll never stop loving you, Buffy, no matter what...”

“I know,” she said with a shy smile, slowly tracing the outlines of his familiar face.

“An’ we’ve still got lots ‘f time,” he insisted, whether trying to convince her or himself, neither was sure. “Yeah, you’ll be gettin’ older’n me, but I don’ care, not even if you’re old an’—”

Buffy cut him off with a fingertip to his lips. “I’m not,” she informed him confidently.

He looked up at her, confused.

“I’m not going to get older,” she clarified.

He let out a chuckle that was half-wry, half-sad. “Don’t exactly have choice ‘bout that, pet,” he said softly.

“Yes, I do.”

Buffy gulped slightly. There was still this little part of her, deep down, that feared his rejection. What if he refused? What if he only wanted her human body? What if he really didn’t want _this_ long-term a relationship? What if she made this choice, and then a few years down the road they broke up? Could she really face eternity alone? She knew her fears were unfounded and forced herself to bury them.

“I won’t leave you, Spike,” she said slowly and clearly, making sure she had every word just right before she spoke it. “I want to be with you, my love. Forever.”

“B—”

She silenced him immediately. “Let me finish,” she pleaded. “This has come up before with...another,” she admitted guiltily, “and my choice was stripped from me then, so I never really had to think about it. But, with you... I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, Spike, and I’ve decided that forever isn’t nearly as long as I want to be with you.” A _very_ nervous gulp. “I want to be like you,” she finally declared. “I want to be by your side forever, as a vampire, as your mate.”

His eyes instinctively flicked down to his mark upon her throat. “You already—”

“Not really,” she insisted. “Maybe for the two of us, but not for anyone else.”

“You don’t ‘ave to prove anythin’ to me, y’know,” he told her seriously.

“I know,” she agreed softly. “This isn’t about that. This is about me spending eternity with the man I love. _Please_ , Spike, I want this. I need it.”

He looked down the where his hand still covered her heart and slowly moved over so that his head rested there instead. “Your soul?” he asked. “Without it, you won’t be you. An’ I couldn’t bear that, losin’ you in that way...”

“There are ways for me to keep it,” she pointed out. “We can work it out so that I’m still me.”

“You’re not afraid?” he had to ask. “Bein’ a vampire an’ all? I thought gettin’ turned was every Slayer’s worst nightmare.”

“I’m not afraid,” she assured him, “not if it means I can be with you.”

“You’ll never see the sun again.”

“I won’t need to,” she insisted.

“This’ll all be different, y’know,” he gestured to their intertwined bodies. “No more hot an’ cold, no more pulsin’ heartbeat...”

“Actually,” Buffy said with coy little smile, “I’m looking forward to that.”

He looked up at her in surprise.

She let one finger trail gently down the side of his throat. “I can’t wait to sink my fangs into you,” she informed him, “make you mine for all the world to see...”

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” Spike teased, his eyes slightly glazed over at the images her words provoked.

“You can never mention it enough,” she informed him.

“I love you,” he repeated, giving her a deep kiss.

“Love you, too,” Buffy pulled away just long enough to whisper against his lips.

“Y’know,” Spike commented with a seductive smirk, “we’re not gonna have much more time to enjoy this, human an’ vampire...”

“You’re right,” she agreed in mock-seriousness. “We have to take immediate advantage of what little time we’ve got left!”

“Tha’s my girl,” Spike flashed her a shy, dimpled smile.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I really am. Forever?”

“Forever.”


End file.
